


Apple red

by purplejooong



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Painting, Secret Crush, That's it, alternative universe, iced americano jongho, that's just some cute fluff with a bland prompt, yeosang it's extremely blind but we still love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28942092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplejooong/pseuds/purplejooong
Summary: “I still need to spend a looooot of hours on it, I want it to be perfect being it a gift for you. If the final piece won’t be of your please, you can still sell it when I’ll become a famous artist.”Jongho let out a giggle, lightly pitched and hearty as he used to, and the breath caressing Yeosang skin itched it. Shadow leaving from Yeosang’s body, Jongho moved slowly back to the chair where he sat for a whole hour, the ice cubes into it made a sound when he sipped some coffee from one of the metal straw Yeosang had. Respect the planet, kids.“As if I’d throw away a gift like that, you’re rude.”or(Yeosang is a painter and he wants to gift Jongho a portait, so he asks him to pose for it)
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Apple red

The World is made of different colours, so many that remembering every single shade could be called an impossible task. Every object comes in many tints and nature always changes her hues: a sky is never the same as another, dusk is different from dawn and, every night, the deep blue holding the stars swifts from navy to ultramarine. The grass is never always green and every grass is different from the other, same goes for flowers, seas, trees and animals. Every single thing is made of thousands of different colours from the spectrum and remembering every one of them it’s a hard task for every thinking being; however, some of us may be used to colours so much, may be so constantly in touch with them that recalling the name of some specific shades is not even that hard. Like artists do. 

Art – as the world, as the colours – comes in many forms and acknowledging them all is challenging as much as remembering how the spectrum of light works. Colours and arts are constantly linked, being one almost essential for the other to exist. And with this connection, artists learn to love, treasure and name as many colours as they can recall, training their eyes to recognize a red from another, finding the perfect shade to paint the pink skies of summer. 

And Yeosang, being a painter, struggled hard to find the perfect shade to paint the apple red hair his kind friend had. Mixing oils, adding pigments, matching them on paper or pieces of canvas he cut out for testing the density of the paint, he struggled to get the right red as his dear friend stayed still, posing for that portrait he so dared to gift him. A throaty groan and a leg stretching out of numbness retrieved Yeosang from the fifth discarded pile of paint he had on his palette, hand stained with many other colours as he glanced at a sleepy Jongho trying not to move much from his position. 

“Sangie can we do a pause? I think my junctures will be blocked for the next week if I don’t stretch out as soon as possible.” 

The setup Yeosang put in his studio to have the right amount of light at every hour he spent painting his model was easy, but smart: a dim light, projected by a flare, illuminated Jongho from his left side, warm shadows projecting on the other half of his whole body as the yellow light lit his golden skin, making it shine along with his bright red hair and the white button up collar shirt both of them agreed to leave at the studio so he could change in it during the posing time. Around them, easels with other paintings on them – some finished, some still in progress – spread on the whole perimeter of the room, leaving space only for a desk and a drawer were Yeosang kept his clean and used palettes, his rolled-up canvases and the infinite collection of art supplies. On the desk, a bright yellow Bluetooth speaker played some lo-fi melodies or ballads that set the mood for the painting sessions; it was on that time too, some slow dreamy melody playing as Yeosang parted from his painting, making an appearance to Jongho’s eyes after playing hide and seek for the last hour in which he rendered his caramel skin on the canvas. 

Yeosang gave a brief nod and proceeded to place the colourful palette on his desk, reaching for a stained cloth – no matter how much he washed it, some patches of various kind won’t leave the fabric – and clean his fingers from the paint. Jongho got up with a guttural noise, followed by his knuckles cracking along with his arms, stretched to the ceiling as he let the numbness drift away. 

“How about a coffee? I’ll go make you some.” 

Yeosang managed to get himself a pretty apartment that permitted him to have his studio right into it, Jongho just had to walk out of the room and search for the kitchen and two cups on its shelfs to make coffee. He hummed and nod again, glancing at the painting once more after removing a dot of dried paint from his thumb nail. He’d use the time Jongho will be out making their coffee break ready to do some retouches over the skin. 

Jongho gave a small, cute smile before leaving and Yeosang took some seconds to shuffle the next playlist, being tired of hearing melodies without any voice to accompany. A tender melody started playing as he reached for his palette again, taking it back to the canvas with a clean brush he would’ve soiled with a hearty tone of brown. With some smooth strokes, he let his hand shade the perfect button nose his friend had, blending the colours together as he let his eyes get lost in the details. His nose, the curve of his eyes, the way his jawline popped out with the dramatic lighting they used, the little mole on his neck – how could he forget to paint it, being it so easy to spot – and the soft line defining his rosy lips, painted with a reddish shade he discarded from the countless ones he tried to get for his hair. Jongho was pretty, Yeosang found himself lost studying his features and in the will of wanting to paint him; he was glad when he accepted once he suggested it in front of two iced americano in their favourite coffee shop on their way home from university. 

Yeosang found himself pretty surprised hearing Jongho’s choice for his studies: he’d never considered the possibility of seeing Jongho studying Philosophy, yet he was able to surprise him another time as he’s always been doing from the past years. Jongho was younger, they met in high school during a sport tournament and became friends in a blink of an eye, complicity found in their friendship. Thus, he was shocked when Jongho told him he’d attend Philosophy and even take a master in that field, yet he found it fitting for him, somehow. The Fine Arts Academy Yeosang attended was only some minutes away from the university, it was enough for them to grab the chance to have a break together or even study in the library when they needed too. It was nice to spend time together even when, while studying, silence reigned over them and the only thing they could hear was the sound of pages flipping in between a breath and another; it was nice just to have the other company fill the time. 

The next brushstroke he put on the canvas slowly caressed the bridge of Jongho’s nose, brush new and a pinkish tone of paint highlighting where it was needed as Yeosang’s ears were briefly caught by the lyrics of the song playing in the background. 

_Is your bedroom ceiling bored like mine?_   
_Of you staring at it all the time?_   
_'Cause_ _it's seen so many nights where I cry and I yell at the sky_   
_For not telling you how I feel_   
_Is your bedroom ceiling bored?_   
_Like mine?_

A bittersweet smile adorned Yeosang’s lips, brush staying still on the tip of the nose painted in the picture under his hazel eyes. 

_Friends._ That was the name he kept using to define themselves, however, Yeosang found it particularly wrong to name like that their relationship. He tried to address him as his _best friend_ , and that didn’t work either. However, Yeosang didn’t want to explore that bitterness that clutched his chest time to time, he just locked it away in a dark corner of his mind and called it a day , the fear of ruining anything their relationship – _friendship_ , he reminded to himself – kicking in when he dared to lift the first layer covering the truth. 

“Two spoons of sugar, the way you like it.” 

A warm solid object touched his shoulder, Jongho lightly handing him his mug of coffee and milk as he held his iced americano in the other hand. That guy only drank that, iced americano was his way-to-go every time. 

Yeosang should’ve been really into the painting – or his mind – if he didn't hear him step back in the studio, his voice led his eyes to interlock briefly with Jongho’s. 

“Thanks.” 

Simply said Yeosang before picking up the steamy mug from Jongho’s hand, fingers carelessly brushing for a second before letting go. He took a sip, the coffee really tasted better when Jongho was the one doing it. 

“Woah Sangie, that looks good so far.” 

As Yeosang took a sip, Jongho shortened distance with the painting by lowering his body over Yeosang’s shoulder – he was sitting on that wobbly stool he got second- no, thirdhand – and his face leaned close to Yeosang’s one, who could hear his breath and feel his lips bend in a smile. That aching pain clutched his heart again at that sudden closeness, however he let out a sigh and sipped again before answering, tongue bittersweet as his thoughts. 

“I still need to spend a looooot of hours on it, I want it to be perfect being it a gift for you. If the final piece won’t be of your please, you can still sell it when I’ll become a famous artist.” 

Jongho let out a giggle, lightly pitched and hearty as he used to, and the breath caressing Yeosang skin itched it. Shadow leaving from Yeosang’s body, Jongho moved slowly back to the chair where he sat for a whole hour, the ice cubes into it made a sound when he sipped some coffee from one of the metal straw Yeosang had. Respect the planet, kids. 

“As if I’d throw away a gift like that, you’re rude.” 

“Rude?!?” 

They shared a moment where they just stared at each other, lips ghosted by a straight line hiding the complicit smile that came right after. Yeosang took another sip from his mug and placed it on the little stand near his workspace, a bunch of brushes dunked in a cup full of water he used to clean them every so often. Mind still settled between the music playing and the image of Jongho in front of him drinking his coffee as he sat down again, Yeosang started to paint some other details he didn’t need to glance at, indelibly impressed in his imaginary. Mindful, after some strokes he glanced at his model again, finding out he was sitting slightly different from the portrait, making some shadow project differently from what he had painted down. So, he rose, palette still in hand as he walked placid towards him to adjust his position. 

“Wait Jongho, you’re sitting different from before, let me just-” 

Carefree, one of his hands – the brush he was holding clutched between his palm and his pinkie and ring finger, making the bristle stay out from Jongho – moved closer to his face, idly hunching his chin to gently put it in place. Only when he left his skin, Yeosang saw a thumb sized spot of red paint staining Jongho’s chin, his eyes swiftly darted to his hand to find out that he had his whole thumb plastered with leftovers from the red paint he mixed before. Apparently, he hadn’t cleaned his hands well with that old cloth he used. 

He cursed under his breath. 

Jongho – who had his eyes fixed over Yeosang’s face the whole time – followed his eyes until he became aware of the red thumb that laid on his face some moments before, realising how a bright spot of paint would be staying over it by now. 

“Wait let me grab a cloth and clean you before it dries. I’m so sorry Jongho-” 

Yeosang rushed to the desk to find a clean cloth, hands frantically sliding between the objects on it before his finger gripped a white piece of fabric laying folded on it. 

“That’s no big deal Sangie, it happens.” 

Jongho reassured him as he let Yeosang’s free hands – the palette and the brush lying on the stand where Yeosang placed them as he went back to Jongho – trail to his face again. Yeosang cupped the warm cheek of his friend as he let the cloth swipe gently over his skin, fingers brushing on it under the white layer that separated the touch. The music on the background was the only sound that could be heard as that little moment went over, both of them holding their breath as the kind hand of Yeosang cleaned Jongho’s face. 

Their eyes interlocked for a moment, their breath held more as both of them realised the sudden closeness they’ve been brought to: Yeosang was standing between Jongho’s spread legs as he casually rushed to clean his face, their body separated by a thin space defined by Jongho’s hand holding his iced americano. 

Yeosang let the hand holding the cloth release it, letting it whirl to the floor where he set with a soundless move. Slowly, he trailed his finger to Jongho’s chin again and he found himself tracing his jawline, stopping right before his ear to go back, causing shivers into Jongho’s back. 

The strength Yeosang put all those times to keep his action still at the thought of Jongho being more than a friend shattered at the sudden intimacy of the act, making his heart painfully itch wanting to definitely have more Jongho for himself and himself only. However, he didn't dare to speak, keeping his eyes over Jongho’s chin as he moved with his fingers around, his index caressing one of his cheeks and mindfully impressing the softness of it in his pad. 

Jongho, on the other side, clung with all his strengths around the glass in his hand, little droplets of water due the ice keeping his drink cold wetting his skin. Stolen by the moment, he slowly moved his other hand to Yeosang’s thigh, his touch almost feather like as he caressed the muscle under it and peacefully rested in the backside, fingers squeezing a little making Yeosang come closer to his body of a step. 

They were still holding breath as they locked eyes, the ice cubes in the glass made a subtle sound as they shifted in it, melting. The sound of guitar playing soft melodies from the yellow speaker became distant as Yeosang mind replaced it with Jongho: his dark eyes, his button nose, his warm skin, his red apple hair, his plush lips. Everything in his mind was Jongho, close as ever in a way they’ve never been. 

And Yeosang wondered if the fingers grasping at his femoris – Jongho’s hand squeezing hard against the black jeans he was wearing –, a thumb stroking slowly on his thigh, two eyes staring at his lips, meant something. Jongho’s mind was absent, his iced americano slowly melting in his hand as he let the close presence of Yeosang trap his body in a magnetic surge; he gently leaned down, eye contact made again and not breaking, as he placed the glass right after the fallen cloth, both of the object close and resembling their situation. By doing that, Jongho’s face dangerously enclosed with Yeosang’s torso, the presence of it ghosting a touch on it, making Yeosang’s face lit up bright, the same apple red of Jongho’s hair painting his cheeks. 

Jongho lifted his now free hand to Yeosang’s hip, touching them lightly and searching for Yeosang approval. He gulped, his adam's apple going up and down when the guy between his legs enclosed a little bit more, their body almost touching. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

It was Jongho asking, voice low and timid making Yeosang short circuit at the request. His eyes went wide, the hazel tone in them sparkling with joy and hesitation as he let his face cut distances with the other one, their nose touching in a brief eskimo kiss before he can hum in consent and catch Jongho’s cheeks go crimson. 

Leisurely, he closed his eyes the more Jongho’s lips were closer and definitely shut them – eye lashes fluttering – when the soft sensation of kissing cancelled entirely the muffled speaker playing, his ears ringing with the flush of blood that reached them. Their lips were just pressing together, the flavour of coffee and milk lingering between them as they kissed innocently, the bittersweet sensation in Yeosang’s chest forgot for the moment. 

Yeosang felt his heart drop when both of Jongho’s strong hand climbed over his hips, moving slow and careful on his back to link them in a hug. Meanwhile, Yeosang let his hands – both cupping Jongho’s face by the time – travel down to his shoulders, stopping on them after caressing his neck and stroking a little the locks under his ears. 

When they parted, Jongho was looking directly into Yeosang’s eyes even before he could open them, smiling like a fool at his _friend_ ’s hazelnut irises. He was adorable, cheeks looking squishable with that tiny smile that lifted them, his eyes sparkling with emotions Yeosang couldn’t decipher but definitely not foreign. 

“I wanted to do this from some time, thanks for creating the best atmosphere. I tried and failed every time.” 

Yeosang’s hearing was brought back to reality with his voice, the mellow melody playing in background audible again along with his words. 

He...tried to create the atmosphere? When? Was Yeosang that blind to not understand his feelings? 

“I... I’ve never realised it.” 

He said, voice shy and eyes sheepish as he kept his gaze locked with Jongho, his strong arms still clutched around his waist when he leant closer to place his chin on his chest. His heart skipped a beat, Jongho could probably hear that at the rate it was beating; Yeosang thought it would be able to break his body and just come out smacking Jongho in the face. 

“I thought it was obvious when I brought you out on your birthday and paid for both of us. Or when I gifted you that concert ticket you so wanted to attend. Or when I brought you at a museum date, nonetheless I don’t know a thing about arts and just kept staring at you. Or when I-” 

Yeosang shut Jongho with a pitch gasp, one of his hands left Jongho’s shoulders to shield his mouth in amazement at his own stupidity. He had been so blind for all that time. 

“Oh my God, Jongho. Why didn’t you confess at me, like, immediately? Jesus that was cheesy as fuck, we could’ve had enjoyed it more.” 

Jongho couldn’t hold the cackle that made Yeosang chest shake with his vibration, his eyes squinting in thin lines along with it. 

“For the same reason you didn’t confess to me, apparently.” 

The giggly face went timider and more embarrassed as Jongho let it bury against Yeosang’s chest, his grip on his body tightening a bit. 

“I was scared of how you would react. I’m glad it’s not one-sided.” 

Yeosang lifted his hand to Jongho’s head, letting his fingers comb between his red locks before he could regain Jongho’s stare over his face. When he gazed at him, Yeosang was smiling like an idiot. 

“How can you even think I’d refuse you...my cool and good at anything friend, Choi Jongho.” 

A muffled happy whine left Jongho’s lips when he hid his face again on the black old shirt Yeosang was wearing, splatters of dried painting all over it making it look like a Pollock inspired shirt. 

The world is full of colours, every colour has multiple, infinite shades. For example, there’s red, barn red, cinnabar, dark red, crimson red, ruby, rusty red and remembering all the names of the shades of red is an impossible task for everyone. 

However, Yeosang will forever remember that precise shade of red he couldn’t get on his palette, as he was an entirely new colour on the spectrum. 

That shade of red, between apple red and scarlet, will forever belong in his mind as the Choi Jongho red. 

The door behind them suddenly unlocked, a stronger light from the outside of the room came in breaking the magic of the moment, accompanied by the happy voice of Yeosang’s flat mate. 

“Yeosaaaang I’m home, do you want to order chic- oh hi Jongho.” 

Yeosang took a solid minute turning to face the door, Jongho still clinging embarrassed to his body. 

“Hasn’t your mother thought to you to knock before entering, San?!?” 

Voice cracked by the awkward situation, Yeosang scolded San that was, by the time, hanging on the doorknob with a wry smile on his face. 

“Are you finally showing him your finest _brush_?” 

He chanted, receiving a shriek in answer followed by Yeosang’s footsteps ready to fight him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading this super quick oneshot I've written because this prompt has been lingering my mind from a while now!  
> JongSang is just...cute, cute and fluffy ok, I can't get it anyway than that *sobs*  
> The song lyrics I used in here are from "sody and cavetown - is your bedroom cieling bored?". This song came across as I was writing it and I just had to put it in, it fitted somehow.  
> I also hope you appreciated the little cameo San does at the end eheh, it's an ester egg for a conversation I had with a friend of mine that I thank for beta reading this!
> 
> See you next time!


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